One of the oddest experiences that I seem to continually have on my bike in the winter is people yelling at me out of their cars.  Now any of you who spend a lot of time on the road and in traffic know that people yelling at you out of their cars isn’t really that odd of an experience at all.  “Out of the way,” “Get off the road,” “Ride on the Sidewalk”, “Bikes suck,” and so on.  None of that is too out of the ordinary. That’s really too bad, but that’s not what I’m talking about.  When it’s cold here and I’m on my commute, or on the way home from a bar or a bridge that I’ve been drinking under I sometimes experience what I call the winterphobic yellers.

These folks, suffering from winterphobia, find it so insane that you would be outside on your bike when it’s cold, that they lean out of their windows and shout things like, “Freak!” or “Get inside!” or “You’re crazy!”  My personal favorite is the third.  The, “Your crazy!” comment. That’s the comment I got yesterday on my commute, “you’re crazy.” It’s so weird.

This is a person for whom being outside on a bike in the snow and cold is so strange, is so upsetting that they think you (or really I in this case) are literally insane, and to boot they are so traumatized by it, that they have to lean out of their window and yell as loud as they can that you are crazy.

Is it just me, or is that kind of crazy?

How could I have possibly instilled that kind of reaction in a person?  I understand thinking that someone is crazy, but what I don’t understand is the extreme response.  How did my winter riding threaten that idiot’s worldview so much that he felt the need to attack?  I mean, isn’t that what an attack is?  Isn’t it a response to something?  They say the best defense is a good offense.  What could I have possibly done to make that dude feel defensive?

And what other winter activities make him feel the same way?  Does he frequent the slopes to yell at skiers and snowboarders?  Does he hide in the backwoods to verbally assault snowshoers or hunters? Does he find the tallest hill and get snarky with the ten year olds sledding with their grandparents?

Perhaps he does.  Perhaps his winterphobia runs so deeply inside him that he can’t help himself.  The winter activities of others so threaten is way of life that he has to overcome his fear and go out and fight it.  Like a superhero or something (it really is the same kind of crazy)

In my mind he eventually spends so much time outside in the cold calling other people who spend time out in the cold crazy, that he eventually enjoys spending time in the cold himself. His winterphobia goes away, and he begins to long for the peaceful seclusion that outdoor winter shenanigans can offer. His chosen winter activity: Yelling.

I’m going to add that to my personal list of favorite outdoor winter activities.  So now it goes like this:

Riding my bike

Drinking beer under bridges

Standing by bonfires

Camping

Yelling

It’s sweet to have a new passion, perhaps next year I’ll see that guy at the hill near my house and we can bond over a good session of screaming at children who are having fun.

In the meantime, I’ll just ride.

Now you ride too.

As I write this the date is March 4^th, 2013 and it is snowing balls outside….  That means the season for cabin fever bellyaching is in full swing, and since we barely even had a winter here in the Twins last year people are hitting it hard and fast when it comes to complaining about how sick they are of winter.  I get that, but hearing anyone complain about anything generally makes me want to stick lit fireworks in my ears so instead of joining in on the misery I try to make my day less boring.  Thankfully for me it doesn’t take much to be entertained and this usually includes riding my bike someplace I find interesting.

When I was an angry young man working in the bike shop, my friends and I used to enjoy riding our bikes to remote locations where there were bridges.  We would do things like jump off of them into the water below, climb around on their skeletons, invariably stop on or under these bridges and invariably we would have beers.  It was a tradition that I’ve always enjoyed and continue to enjoy today.  One of the innumerable awesome things about Minneapolis is the fact that there are - what science has only been able to describe as - a ‘shit-ton’ of bridges in and around the city.  Access to many of these bridges is frequently under water throughout the year, but in the winter, while everyone else is complaining about the fact they can’t go to Cancun or how slow everyone drives when it snows or some other such bullshit you can busy yourself by riding your bike to these locations and goof around with your pals!

I did that not long ago and took some photos.  I’m not sure where my love of riding to and hanging out under bridges comes from, but it’s there and I will not deny this part of myself.  It might be the fact that I grew up in Northern Lower Michigan, a people that were referred to as “Trolls” by the Yoopers.  Maybe it’s just yet another piece of regional culture ingrained in my psyche but I’m glad it’s there whatever the reason.  What the present calls “infrastructure,” the future will call “ruin”, so there’s a lot of character in these places waiting to be released by the sands of time.  Since it’s only seasonally available, why not go outside and admire it while it’s above water and still standing?  I can all but guarantee that while you are doing this, you will have zero things about which to complain.  One man’s path over water is another man’s Cathedral.  Enjoy a little of the Sacrament and ride yer damn bike.

Pigpen

I am going to shift the subject from bicycles on this day March 8th, even though this Blog will not post till sometime after. This is the day when Ron “Pigpen” McKernan died in 1973. Even though I was just a toddler when he died, I can really connect with his music. The musical tastes of the brand are as wide and varied as the the people who make it happen. Sov likes to pic tunes on the guitar, Wood likes techno, Trevor is in a Electro Sensory Outsider Space Punk band, Gregg likes everything from rap to country. Me, I like the Grateful Dead among others mostly old school.

Many folks think about Jerry Garcia when they think of the Grateful Dead but back in that day Pigpen was the front man for the band. While the rest of the band experimented with LSD Pigpen refused, choosing to drink Southern Comfort, cheap wine and whiskey. He brought a gritty bluesy sound to the band often growling into the microphone. It was Pigpen who turned the Grateful Dead away from Jug music to electric.  He played the blues like he lived them and encouraged everyone to get off of the sidelines and quit “playin’ pocket pool.” Dude rocked a cowboy hat and could grow a pretty wide variety of facial hair too...just sayin’  Yep Pigpen was a baaad ass (in my opinion). Eventually the heavy drinking caught up to him on March 8, 1973.  Here is a lil’ taste.  Enjoy or don’t.

I am going to shift the subject from bicycles on this day March 8th, even though this Blog will not post till sometime after. This is the day when Ron “Pigpen” McKernan died in 1973. Even though I was just a toddler when he died, I can really connect with his music. The musical tastes of the brand are as wide and varied as the the people who make it happen. Sov likes to pic tunes on the guitar, Wood likes techno, Trevor is in a Electro Sensory Outsider Space Punk band, Gregg likes everything from rap to country. Me, I like the Grateful Dead among others mostly old school.

Many folks think about Jerry Garcia when they think of the Grateful Dead but back in that day Pigpen was the front man for the band. While the rest of the band experimented with LSD Pigpen refused, choosing to drink Southern Comfort, cheap wine and whiskey. He brought a gritty bluesy sound to the band often growling into the microphone. It was Pigpen who turned the Grateful Dead away from Jug music to electric.  He played the blues like he lived them and encouraged everyone to get off of the sidelines and quit “playin’ pocket pool.” Dude rocked a cowboy hat and could grow a pretty wide variety of facial hair too...just sayin’  Yep Pigpen was a baaad ass (in my opinion). Eventually the heavy drinking caught up to him on March 8, 1973.  Here is a lil’ taste.  Enjoy or don’t.

A few years back I convinced the fry line manager to let me do my Surly work remotely. They were nice enough to make it seem like I was getting the good end of that deal - though I'm pretty sure some big high fives were slapped after my U-Haul tottered away. Since that time I have called a little town called Decorah, Iowa my home. It's a pretty nice place: 2.5 hours from Surly HQ in Minneapolis, er... *cough* Bloomington *cough*, an hour from the nearest four lane highway, and filled with more Norman Rockwell than you can shake a stick at. Oh, we also have 20+ miles of singletrack about 5 minutes from my front door. We make Mayberry look like a strip mall.

One of the real nice advantages to living where I do is the fishing. I've always enjoyed the simple quiet of drowning worms with my dad, but I've never been one to make a lot of effort to get out on the water. Babe Winkleman I ain't. This all began to change after my relocation. Turns out there are miles and miles of semi-pristine spring creeks up in these bluffs (yes, Iowa has bluffs Jethro) - and lots of them hold trout. It also happens that stalking and catching these slippery devils is both fun and challenging. My shitty lightweight spinning rig was soon replaced by some loaner fly fishing gear (thanks Nate!) Since that time I've been pretty well ass-deep in trying to carve out time to roll out to the creeks and get away from the world.

Here's where two of my nerdy gearhead obsessions come together.

Last Fall I was shown the glory of lightweight camping and dirt cycling by Surly expat, Swervy Sande. After hauling my ass over some real steep climbs dragging panniers and whatnots on my Troll, I dcided that my packing was all wrong. I phoned up the good people at Revelate Designs upon my return and made some investments toward the end of lightening my load. Good people those guys. 

So, I've got the bags. I've got the fishing gear. I live near some creeks. I have a Krampus. Even I'm not stupid enough to ignore the obvious. The Krampus Winter Trout Stalker was born.

I've got the rod and my sling pack full of gear - fly boxes, nippers, leaders, that sort of shit - in the handlebar harness. The waders live in the frame pack, and my giant size 14 ridiculous wading boots are cinched together with a Junk Strap and stuffed into the Viscacha seat bag. I can even fit a couple of road sodas and a sammich somewhere in all that too.

The closest creek to my pad is about three miles as the crow flies and my initial forays into the world of fly fishing by bike have been super successful. I haven't caught much since it's winter and the fishing is harder - and I'm honestly pretty awful at actually catching fish - but the fun I'm having is more than I deserve. Here's a taste of where I end up:

I know. I totally suck. Even I wish that I was me.

Anyway, it all comes back to figuring out more stupid shit to do on your bike, right? I like drinking beer too and figuring out how to mesh that with riding happened a very long time ago. We'll see where this new melding of geeky passtimes gets me.

Oh, and if you'd like a taste of my little town, feel free to join us on June 21-23 for our annual Dirt Burger gathering under the 5th St bridge. We'll ride bikes up in the trails, camp out, and burn stuff. Also, you should come by for one of the Midwest's oldest mountain bike races - the Decorah Time Trials. More information on both is available here: Decorah Human Powered Trails.

Right on,

Skip

Back in December I brought home a little pup named Lola. She is the laziest Lab I have ever met. I am pretty sure she is mixed with a sloth.

My other dogs have always hated anything on wheels. Attacking lawn mowers, rollerblades and running away barking from bikes of all propulsions. So I thought I would start earlier with this little gal and see if I could have a trail dog for once in my life.

I started by googling ‘How to Train your Dog to ride bikes’ and found enough information to be get started.

My parts list:

• (1) Willing puppy participant (about 4 months old and 25 lbs)
• (1) Leash long enough to not kill either of us (5’ – 6’ is what I had on hand)
• (1) Surly bike
• (1) bag o treats

There are a lot of caution steps, warnings and other things to remember noted on other sites. You should probably go find these and read them. I ignored most due to lack of time and patience. Here are the steps I followed:

1. Hooked Lola up with an old 5’ standard canvas leash
2. Had Lola sit and wait for me to board may Cross-check
3. Said ‘let’s go!’ and started pedaling

To my great relief she started trotting right along with me. I started with her on my left because it felt right. She did great and stayed at a steady pace. It took her a few tries to understand where she needed to be, next to my pedal about a foot distance. We turned corners smoothly as I shouted out warnings of “Right! Right! We are turning Right!” and “Left! Left! We are turning Left!” She caught on quick as to what was about to happen.

Our first trip was a quick around the block. I wanted to keep it positive and get her back so she could load her up with treats and be stoked for our next ride. As soon as we came to a stop I praised her, rubbed her down and shoved her favorite puparoni treats down her throat. She was in heaven.

Our next ride was the same route around the block on the Cross-Check. I moved her to my right side after a few attempts. No real reason other than that seemed to work best for us both. She had one or two instances of running ahead of me. I would stop or pull her back depending on the situation. Mostly she stayed right in the sweet spot next to me.

A lot of snow set in the following week. I was concerned this would throw her off but loaded up the Moonlander to see what she thought. She did even better with the Moonlander. It may be the I AM THE CONQUERER OF ALL feeling I get when I ride the Moonlander. I feel like I could crush small towns if I was that kind of gal. But I am not, so we just rode about town and crushed small snow banks.

Things I learned about teaching a pup to join in the ride:

• Vets advise you do not run your dog until they are at least 1 year old. Growth plates can close, hips can blow out or disfigure, the puppy could be broken for years to come. I keep Lola at a light trot and keep the trips short.
• Talking to her while we ride made a huge difference.
• Lola may be an exceptional pup in that she seemed to naturally stay by my side and not charge ahead or pull away.
• Lola hates puddles.
• The pace for me on a Moonlander is great for teaching a pup to ride.

Lola and I now ride regularly together. My next step is to get her on trails and see how we can work that out. I finally have a bike dog and I am stoked.

My computer hard drive is full of pictures.  It’s the only way I can remember anything these days, so I take lots and lots of pictures.  And, since it might not be so easy for you folks to know who us folks are, I have compiled for you some photos that I have taken of the Surly brand peoples.

Greg is our sales manager.  He has been doing this job for over two years.  He likes ballroom dancing and underwear wrestling.

Trevor is in sales too.  You might have spoken to him on the phone.  He rarely wears pants and does not take “no” for an answer.  If he calls, you better buy something from him.

Bob handles customer service and social media.  You will recognize him by his red beard and sunny disposition.  He likes shooting things in the woods.

Ben is our newest FNG and customer service goob.  He talks real good about our bikes and stuff, and openly accepts Rohloff as his personal savior.

Sov lives in Decorah, Iowa, which is not in Minnesota.  He talks real loud even without the megaphone and recently revealed the fact that he wears trifocals.  You’ve likely spoken to him on the phone or email.

Tyler is the Surly marketing manager and started about 1.43 years ago.  He writes blogs about how he likes to drink beer and ride his bike.  He also likes to drink beer and ride his bike.

Christina is our marketing coordinator and started about 5 months ago.  She’s married to a guy who works for Salsa but she is way more Surly than most of us.  She makes sure the guys in Marketing are getting their shit done.

Verdoorn is our production artist.  He can grow a full beard in less than a day, and is responsible for making sure our print and web stuff always has a pretty mouth on it. 

A-Wood is our art director.  He enjoys making movies of himself dancing in his garage and rides his bike at night, through your yard while you are asleep, when you might have forgotten to lock your doors.

Corson is the oldest of the marketeers, and you may remember him as previously having done Tyler’s job.  He now makes sure that the words on Surly’s website and print catalog don’t suck.  He had nothing to do with writing this blog (duh).

Jim travels to Single Speed Worlds when we let him, and otherwise remains in his cage where he grows his beard and sees to it that our stuff gets forecasted and ordered.  He has the hardest job in the company.

Adam is our product manager.  He enjoys working on the addition to his house and when he’s not doing that he spends a lot of time planning our products for the future and managing projects.  This might be why he looks as though he hasn’t slept in months.

Thor is our engineer and wheelie rider.  He is responsible for making our stuff work real good and safe.  He does not actually have a huge hammer that he uses against his nemesises, but he might be getting one as soon as they go on sale at JC Penney’s.

Dave is the guy who used to do the job I do now, and has been here the longest.  He continues to design product for us, and when he’s not doing that he enjoys surviving on crickets and tree bark while riding his bike in extreme places. 

Skoglund is our newest product engineer.  He always wears flip-flops and drives a VW Eurovan.  He gave me a ride in it once.  He is currently working on a tire and a frame that you might like.  If only I could tell you about them.

The Surly brand has evolved a bit since I started working as the brand manager seven years ago.  Many of us have more gray hairs, a few of us can no longer bend in places we used to bend, and the folks who have been added to the herd have generally made the average age of the brand younger.  When I started here it was just five of us; now it is 16.  What surprises me the most about this growth is how we have not allowed it to affect Surly in a negative way.  We still make what we want to ride and do things the way we want them to be done.  Oh sure, we don’t always get along and in fact sometimes fight, but this has always been the case.  Back when we were just 5 we constantly argued about what the next color of the Cross Check should be or what to name the new crank.  I guess the more things stay the same the more they change, or something like that. 

As for me, I’m the brand manager. I am responsible for keeping the brand between the guardrails.  This has never been easy but it has always been interesting.  I am the guy who works mostly behind the scenes and who most of you don’t recognize when you meet, and I like it that way. 

The team I have assembled and introduced to you here is the best team in the bike industry, bar none.  They are the reason Surly is such a great brand, and they are the reason we will continue to offer the best steel bikes money can buy.  My mission is to make sure that we never stop doing that.  

Finally had the opportunity to ride my new custom Moonlander. My John Deere matchy match bike would not be complete without doing a video set in a rural Minnesota field with a abandoned grain bin and all. I know what your thinking. When are you going to go on tour with your band? No one would want to be in my band because I am creepy which is why I do everything on a synthesizer in my basement. Not going to gig until I get signed by a major record label.

I recently spent a couple of days in Los Angeles.  Any time I travel I like to take a bike with me, cuz I’d rather ride than walk or drive (you know, cuz it funner).  I found myself in a bind though.  I was going out to LA on Moonlander business (yep I just said that) so I had to bring a Moonlander with me.  I don’t know how many of you have tried to pack one of these beasts to travel, but they suck to pack.  There is pretty much no way to do it, without having a separate box for one of the wheels (in my case I packed both wheels in their own box). So having two cases for one bike made me realize I would not be able to bring my regular travel bike with me, so I would have to ride the Moonlander around the city.

This is a bike that was built for a very specific purpose, and city riding was not it. The Moonlander is built to go where other bikes falter.  Loose shitty conditions (sand, snow, mud, bushes, etc.), and although the streets of LA are riddled with giant potholes I couldn’t really imagine myself riding that bike around the city.  I knew it would be slow, and suspected it would feel sluggy, boring and just frustrate me.  I tried to figure out a way I could get a small bike in the big case with the Moonlander frame, but all to no avail.  So I decided to ride what I had, and stop being such a big fat baby.

Turns out, it was a blast.  Now, the bike was considerably slower than I would have been on my Steamroller, or Trucker, or Ogre for that matter. Riding that bike in the city required me to adapt my riding style to the bike, rather than the other way around.  That’s sort of a no brainer though.  Anyone who has spend any serious time on a Pug or a Moony will tell you, it’s like learning to ride a whole new kind of bike.

And there is a really good reason for that.

It is, a whole new kind of bike. 

That idea harkens me back to the early days of Mountain biking.  I knew so many people who hated it at first because they just didn’t have the speed that they had on the road.  It wasn’t as fun for them.  But they rode more, and more and got their confidence and mojo all lined up and then they had a blast.  The fatbikes are the same thing.  You've got to learn about the bike and what it can do.  You have to put in the time, especially on loose conditions, but even in the city; it isn't easy to understand just what a bike like that is capable of on a first ride, or even a tenth.  You have to ride and ride and ride the thing to really understand all the cool shit you can do upon it.  You have to learn first hand to find the confidence that goes along with the “fun” part of riding.

It took me a long time on my Moonlander to really appreciate all the things I could do (and all the things I could roll over, crush, kill, float) now I love it, and can’t imagine life without it.

The street riding I did in LA inspired me to start commuting on my Pug, which is equally as fun.  It’s really all about that, at least to me.  On that bike in the city, you can cut every corner and backyard shortcut to your hearts content, hop curbs and smash over potholes, ride down stairs, and if you're really good, ride up them too.  It’s not about being fast, it’s about having fun.  The ten extra minutes it might take you to get home if you stomp around in alleys a bit, will be well worth it.  Though if being fast is the only way you can have fun, try a track bike in a velodrome, or work your ass off on a Fatbike and smoke all the plastic carbon bikes with a giant smile on your face.  I know a couple of dudes who can fly on those bikes to be sure, fat tires or no.

It's really all about how you have fun.

So go do that.  Get out and ride.

The other day when I was out riding my bike through the woods I came upon a felled tree that had smoke coming out of it.  I pulled the bike over, dropped it, and made my way over to see if it was some kind of fire. As I drew near, I noticed a strangely familiar smoky smell and heard some tiny coughs that seemed to be coming from the same area as the smoke.  I quietly crept around the side of the tree and to my surprise there was a very small raccoon.  He was wearing a tiny little biker hat, with a corncob pipe in his mouth and holding a bottle of Wild Turkey in his paws.  I wondered to myself if I was having some kind of flashback, or if I was in a dream.  That’s when the little fella looked up and made eye contac.  I don’t know what kind of experience you’ve had with animals in the woods, but usually I try to steer clear. 

 He looked at me for a long time, then opened his mouth and let out a pretty impressive burp.  Long. Like seven seconds long. Like burping the alphabet long. After the burp, he licked his lips, took a pull off the bottle and started puffing away on the pipe.  I wasn’t sure if he saw me or, again, if any of it was really happening, so I started backing away.  I must have said something to myself at this point (I have a habit of talking to myself pretty much all the time) because he looked up at me and said, “Speak up, din’ your mother ever tell you mumblin’ was rude.” 

At this point I was pretty sure that none of this was actually happening, and I sort of got locked in a stare with the little dude. (Staring is another bad habit of mine) “First you mumble now you starin? What is wrong with you? You some kind of dip-shit or something?” and when he said the words “dip-shit” he really hit the “p” sound and the “t” sound, so it was really aggressive sounding.  “DiPP-shiTT and spit flew out of his cute little mouth and landed on my shoe.  None of this snapped me out of my stare, I just stood there, slack-jawed and ruby eyed, trying to get a hold of myself.  Then he stood up.

That snapped me out of it.  I told him I was sorry and he sat back down.  He patted the ground next to him and nodded. I’m not sure why, but I walked over and sat next to him.  He handed me the bottle of Turkey and I took a swig.  He handed me the pipe and I smoked a bit. We just kinda sat there for a bit smoking and drinking and I started to relax and the whole things sort of stopped feeling so weird.  It got quiet, like the kind of quiet it only gets when you’re out in the woods all alone and the trees are still and there’s no wind.  Peaceful. He noticed my Pug and asked, “That your ride?”  I told him that it was.  “Pretty big tires.” I told him no shit.  “Can I ride it?”  Now where I come from, if someone asks if they can ride your bike, you say yes.  It’s just how I was raised.  I love my bike(s) so much that I always want everyone else to feel the same way. So I told him he could ride it.  He handed me the pipe and the bottle and made his way over to the bike.  Jumped on it, which was way to big, but somehow he made it work.

And I’ve got to tell you that little dude could rip.  He rode the shit out of that bike.  It made me feel like my bike would never be happy with me on it’s back again. He was doing wheelies and nosing it, he was shredding the trail and weaving in and out of trees and bushes, jumping that bike higher than I ever thought it could go.  He rode it back over to the hollow tree and skidded it to a stop showering me with dirt and tiny rocks.  He jumped down off the saddle and plopped himself next to me on the ground.  “Sweet ride.”  I told him thanks. 

 I asked him his name and how long he’d been riding.  “Wenslus Burthpold, is my name but most folks call me Burpy.  I been ridin’ longer than I can remember.  I love me some bike.  Don’t like much else, ‘cept for Turkey and the smoke, bacons good and pizza ain’t bad either.  Most other shit I hate.  People and their obnoxious habits, nose pickin’, drivin’ their automobiles all around the place never stopping to have a drink, always bitching and moaning about every damn thing, always complaining about not having enough money or not having all the shit they want or how they can’t go on some stupid fucking cruise to some stupid fucking place and see the whole thing from the safety of their stupid fucking cruise liner with it’s midnight buffets and assholes who play songs on crystal cups, always making excuses for why they don’t do anything that’s good for them and then spending all their time watching TV and all their money on vacations in Vegas, which is the worst place in the world for anyone who has even a drop of genuine altruism in their worthless hide.  But bikes are cool”

I sort of sat there and stared at him for a minute, blow away by such a giant rant and such incredibly foul languages, coming out of such a tiny little critter.  Once I wrapped my head around the whole thing I naturally offered Burpy a job at Surly.  He said he’d think about it, so with any luck he’ll be doing a bit of blogging for us in the future, and maybe a bit of traveling too.  Watch for it.  After a bit, it started to get cold I said good evening and hopped back up on my Pug and road out of the woods.  As I roe away I heard him shout to me, “You’re good people there fatso.  Come back again, and next time you bring the whiskey and smoke.”

So I guess next time I will. 

In the meantime I’ll keep riding, and you should too.

Hey there!
My guess is that if you’re reading our blog you have been around the block once or twice with the Surly brand.  You’ve probably ridden some of our bikes and maybe even own one, and if none of those are true you’ve at least seen our bikes in person.  And if none of those are true, what in the hell are you doing here anyway?
Let’s just assume that either all or none of those are true, but that at the very least you are frustrated to death with our choice of colors, and would either never buy one of our bikes or refuse to ride that brown Cross-Check that has been parked in your garage since you came to the realization that the rest of the world hated it and now so do you.
There is good news.  Your dreams have all come true.  You’ll never be frustrated again. 
Starting in 2015, all Surly bikes and frames will be painted in one of two colors:  black, and white.
This was not an easy decision, but it is a necessary one, for two reasons:  1) We’ve run out of colors; 2) Your happiness is all we care about; 3) We’re all really tired.
From now on you will only need to worry whether you want to ride a white Surly or a black Surly. 
Don’t worry, though, we will continue to serve up “colorful” names for our colors so that you’ll never get bored with the colors themselves.
Like these:
“Norwegian Metal Black”
“White Line Fever”
“Betty White”
“Rock Tee Black”
“Nuclear Winter White”
“Nuclear Winter at Night Black”
“A Whiter Shade Of Black”
You get the picture.  We really hope you like this new direction for our brand.  We like it a lot because it makes our jobs a lot easier.  That’s all that matters to us because we’re all just protein shake drinking corporate shills you know.

Hey there!
My guess is that if you’re reading our blog you have been around the block once or twice with the Surly brand.  You’ve probably ridden some of our bikes and maybe even own one, and if none of those are true you’ve at least seen our bikes in person.  And if none of those are true, what in the hell are you doing here anyway?

Let’s just assume that either all or none of those are true, but that at the very least you are frustrated to death with our choice of colors, and would either never buy one of our bikes or refuse to ride that brown Cross-Check that has been parked in your garage since you came to the realization that the rest of the world hated it and now so do you.

There is good news.  Your dreams have all come true.  You’ll never be frustrated again. 
Starting in 2015, all Surly bikes and frames will be painted in one of two colors:  black, and white.

This was not an easy decision, but it is a necessary one, for two reasons:  1) We’ve run out of colors; 2) Your happiness is all we care about; 3) We’re all really tired. 

From now on you will only need to worry whether you want to ride a white Surly or a black Surly. 

Don’t worry, though, we will continue to serve up “colorful” names for our colors so that you’ll never get bored with the colors themselves.
Like these:
“Norwegian Metal Black”
“White Line Fever”
“Betty White”
“Rock Tee Black”
“Nuclear Winter White”
“Nuclear Winter at Night Black”
“A Whiter Shade Of Black”
You get the picture.  We really hope you like this new direction for our brand.  We like it a lot because it makes our jobs a lot easier.  That’s all that matters to us because we’re all just protein shake drinking corporate shills you know.

[Author's comments: "I have no reasonable explanation for this."]

Connor’s last email said simply, “Don’t worry. What could possibly go worng?”

Then he got on his bicycle and rode away, never to return. Of course I didn’t know this. I didn’t know he pushed his chair back, stood up, walked out rolling his bike, threw his leg over and left. I didn’t know he wasn't staring at his screen like me. Maybe he thought he'd be right back. Maybe he didn’t know that he wasn’t just out for a quick spin. He didn't take anything else. But I think he knew. Many years later, a passing freighter spotted his bicycle drifting through a dark alley in a lonely corner of deep space. Pretty odd thing to find floating in space. By then we'd had his funeral.  They snagged it, looked it over. It was in ridable condition. They began making calls. One call led to another. Pictures were sent. Each one took weeks to make the journey. Eventually they contacted Space Command, me, everybody. The media got hold of it and it blew up. It was a total mess. The shit just kept piling up. Who knew what, how long it had been going on, etc., etc. No one knew anything about it until then.

Right then I didn’t know that he wasn’t sitting there typing. I stared at the screen and typed back, “Is that a joke? It’s not funny.” But by then he was getting on his bike and riding away. I waited in silence. I wrote some more and waited again in the heavy blue glow, but he didn't write back. By then he was gone.

We know now that he first stopped to ride the moon. Really epic stuff. Some of the best riding in the solar system, right there in his back yard. But he didn’t stop there. He drifted around. We got information that he’d spent time on Mars but details were vague. Then he disappeared for a long time. He surfaced again when he hopped a ride on a transport and showed up at Saturn just in time for the Ring Race. Toughest race ever. He won. It just about wasted him, but he won. He’d always been an ambitious and accomplished man, not to mention an astonishing rider, but this was just beyond anything. He was beyond.

For a time he lived on Pluto. When the freighter found his bike there was a sticker on it that said, “Pluto is a planet.” That's how, after we started to peel back layers, we found out about his bioshack in the most remote place in the solar system. He thrived there according to the few accounts we could shake loose. At first the crew of the freighter was merely in over their heads. We paid them to keep quiet and started scaring up information. Each detail led to questions, and we chased down every answer. One door would open others, which opened others. We’d try to connect all the loose ends, figure out where he’d been, what he was up to, but there were huge gaps, and after Pluto his trail just went cold. We never figured out why he left. Everywhere he went it was the same. He’d stay for a while then just disappear. No warning, just off the radar. Gone, just like that. And then the bike disappeared, vanished from a secure hold on a remote freighter. The crew went out of their minds. Some of them killed themselves. Eventually their ship was decommissioned and rerouted. It was real bad.  

It’s hard to separate all the things that happened, to untangle all the events that led to this. We keep connecting pieces, but it's as if time....it's as if all the things that happened could happen at any time, in any sequence. It's as if parts of it keep happening, like a needle skipping on phonograph record. One way or another, he’s still there. He always will be. That’s a comfort. Out there in the celestial frontier. He just reached a point where he didn’t need it anymore. None of it. So he got on his bike and rode away.

(Some picture I found on the internet. Neat though, huh?)
 

When the weather changes my paw start to hurt me cuz of my arthritis that I got from too much digging around for fish bones and shit at the bottom of trash cans and in the dirt, which is were people generally get rid of the kind of stuff that I like to dig up and eat, or at least chew on.  When my paw start hurting me it also reminds me of the first time it happened, and by that I mean the first time I hurt my paw.  I was making my way out of a sewer vent, just finishing up a bottle of Turkey, and loving the spinny and tingley feelings that went with that, when I came upon a sweet set of throwing stars.  Ninja style throwing stars, that were pretty shiny and seemed to be just laying there on the ground for me to find and be awesome with.  I found the rest of my gaze and we started to play. 

We took turns throwing the shuriken (it’s what they’re called) at as many things as we could; old cans, little rocks, trees, tires, whatever.  I noticed no matter how many times I threw them, I never hit what I was aiming at, and neither did the rest of the gaze.  We decided that what we needed was practice, so we took turns holding things on our heads so that the other two could throw the shuriken at them.  I started with a can on my head and right off the bat, “thunk”, and  I’ve got and eighth pound of ninja steel stuck in my paw. 

I screamed, which scared my other two, which scared me, so we all ran in circles for about 4 minutes and then hid behind random sticks and shit.  When the smoke cleared I took the “treasure” that I had found and threw them in the river.  I threw them in the river because I knew that no matter how much we practiced, we would never get good at them things and that I would keep on getting my paw thunked full of whatever the others threw at me.  I knew this cuz  I remembered something my old sire told me when I was just a hairless cub.  He said, “If’n you ain’t good at somethin’ right off the bat, you might as well throw in the towel and quit.  There ain’t no use in ever tryin’ nothin’ ever.”  My old sire had a good point, and I took it to heart.  You should too.

Lately I heard lots a folks who tried riding one of them there fatbikes for the first time and got their feelings all squishyed by the fact that they weren’t so fast as they were on them mountain bikes.  Well guess what, you never will be.  It’s a different bike.  It’s funny how when you drive a Porsche it goes so much faster than a half-ton pickup, or how much faster that truck is than a tractor.  ‘course try to drive that fancy-pants car across the desert, or that truck through a giant muddy field and we’ll see who’s faster.  You should do what I did back when I was just a cub, and never do anything that you aren’t awesome at the first time you try it.

‘Course, that was when I was just a cub. When I grewed up, I realized what a bunch of horseshit that was.  My daddy, rest his soul, was a coward, but that don’t mean I am, or gotta be too.  If I could go back in time I woulda stopped myself from throwin’ them cool-ass ninja stars in the river, and I would have practiced.  First, cuz those things are expensive, and second cuz by now I’d be able to skewer a squirrel at nine yards.

So quit or practice, thems your choices to make. It’s up to you, jus remember what old Burpy says.  I says, it’s all about the fun, and you can’t have too much a that when you hidin’ under your sheets.

The other thing I say is: Throwing stars are super sweet.

Now go get you some and practice.

Getting The Lead Out

We try really hard to produce stuff that has staying power, stuff that’s durable, versatile and useful enough to stay in a rider’s regular rotation. We don’t phase out products just because a new model year is coming. The reality, though, is that many products sell for a while and then tastes change, standards change, whatever, and the market for something drops away. This has happened to Surly. Some of you may remember our Instigator frame or Conundrum unicycle.We keep items around that don’t sell well because we like them and think they offer riders something unique, but if we’re not selling enough of something to make money on it sometimes we have to make the choice to discontinue a product.

I bring this up because right now we’re phasing out a few items: the Moloko bar, the Fixxer, the Torsion bar (our third or fourth product ever), and the venerable Endomorph tire. We thought maybe it might be illuminating for you to hear how a company that doesn’t like to get rid of things comes to the point of getting rid of things. Let’s talk about the Fixxer, because it has been around longer than Surly and is as good an example as any of a product in its golden years.

The Fixxer was not originally a Surly product. It was developed as a part of Sub11, a house brand group of products aimed at track racing which was produced and sold by Surly’s parent company, Quality Bicycle Products. Sub11 did not last, and when it was decided that this experiment had run it's course, a few of its products were absorbed into the Surly fold. Surly was in actuality Sub11’s main customer at that point, using Sub11 dropouts on our single speed frames. Some of our early frames’ dropouts are marked "Sub11". True sign of a classic era Surly frame. Both Sub11 and Surly have similar origins, in that they were a product, before a brand or company. An individiual [different dudes mind you] hand an idea for a product that wasn't readily availabe, and QBP supported that person and their ideas; but that's a whole 'nother story for a different time.

When the Fixxer first came out there were not many high quality fixed hub options, 130 or 135mm fixed hubs, let alone disc fixed hubs. The Fixxer solved all of this because it replaced the freehub body of most Shimano hubs, converting a previously freewheeling hub to fixed gear, and Shimano hubs were spec’d on a vast majority of bikes sold for quite a few years [ture fact, promise]. The other benefit of a Fixxer setup was that you didn’t have to build a new wheel. The conversion preserved the wheel such that it could be converted back. These days Surly offers dedicated fixed hubs in 120, 130, & 135mm widths, as well as disc-compatible fixed versions. And we’re not the only ones offering quality fixed hubs these days. There’s simply a lot more stuff now that does the job better than the Fixxer.

Another factor sealing the Fixxer’s fate is manufacturing. Finding manufacturers for this thing is harder than you might think. The volume we require is low, making it comparatively more expensive to produce. Because of this, several of the people manufacturing different parts of the Fixxer no longer wanted to produce it, and finding partners willing to work with us on this became time consuming, adding to the cost of something that already wasn’t especially profitable or relevant. We considered spending time and resources to begin producing this through our primary supply chain, but had to pause to consider if it was worth the effort. When the Fixxer came out, it was compatible with I’m guessing about 90% of Shimano hubs, and Shimano hubs made up the vast majority of hubs on bikes for quite a while. But as noted, these days there are a lot of other brands out there, and even Shimano has changed its freehub interface design. The result now is that Fixxers are compatible with fewer and fewer new hubs, and less and less of those old legacy hubs are still in operation. Just explaining what the Fixxer is compatible with has become difficult.

So we’re not going to continue to produce/support the Fixxer. It's not worth the effort. I'm not saying we'd never bring it back, but don't hold your breath. If you're really upset by this and are planning to write in expressing yourself, please consider that you've had a decade to buy one.

As for the other products I mentioned earlier, the Moloko Bar is currently on hold. We had plans to release this bar this spring, but supplier issues resulted in a bar that doesn’t meet our criteria in terms of price, weight, stiffness and strength. What we thought would be a simple addition to our line has taken a lot longer to hit the target. Because of the problems with this project, we’ve dug deeper into CrMo handlebar design and will be using some of the knowledge we’ve gained to redesign the Torsion bar [as well as a future bars, potentially similar to the Moloko]. For now the Torsion Bar is not available, but it is coming back. Sorry for the late notice.

The Endomorph was our first 3.7” bicycle tire, originally released back in 2005. This tire has recently been taken out of production. The Endomorph was a great introduction for most of us to the capabilities fat bikes offer, but we -and you- have learned a lot over the years. We’ve been making significant investments in our fat tire production capabilities over the past years, as well as tread designs. We offer a variety of tires now that handle and perform vastly better than the Endomorph. If there were cause, we could bring Endomorphs back. We still own the tooling for them, after all, but reviving them is unlikely. We know that sand and beach riders are certainly the most vocal about wanting it’s continued availability, but the sales are just too low to seriously consider it. For you folks, we urge you to try the Nate or Knard 3.8, or one of our other tires when you wear out your trusty Endomorphs.

Recently we put out the newest generation of our hubs, called the Ultra New Hubs. (instead of the New Hubs) (Clever Donkey)  At any rate, one of my favorite things about the Ultra New version is that we make an axel swap kit so you can take your old New Hubs and make them work betterer more like the newer Ultra New Hubs (confused yet).  We made a video, and here's a link to the product page.

http://surlybikes.com/parts/hubs

As I’ve mentioned a few times here, I live a few hours away from Surly HQ in the small town of Decorah, Iowa. One of the things we have here is a stellar mountain bike trail system right in town. In fact, I’m looking out my window across our quaint little valley at the very bluff that comprises the bulk of the trails. There’s also a dedicated bunch of people here that love riding on dirt, love adding trails to the system, and REALLY love showing off the fruits of their labors to folks from out of town. To that end, each year they put on the Decorah Time Trials – a mountain bike race that’s been quietly kicking ass since 1990 – the single oldest event of its kind in Iowa, and one of the grand daddies of Midwest racing.

Here’s the info:

So, how did it all start? What’s the genesis of an event like this, and how is it possible that mountain bike racing in IOWA of all places is fun? I decided to make this here blog post an interview with the two clowns responsible for the whole thing. These guys have dedicated a big chunk of their lives to the sport of mountain biking and, more importantly, sharing what they love with others. Now, before you get out the hankies and we turn it all sentimental, I’ll show you who I’m talking about.

Meet Deke:

Richard “Deke” Gosen owns Oneota River Cycles down here in Decorah and has been part of the mountain biking scene in town for the better part of three decades. He builds a helluva set of wheels, loves his dog Olive, and his shop is a hangout for the local dirt bikers – the beer can recycling receptacle is proof of that.

Meet Deke’s platonic life-partner, Moffit:

Ron “Chewey” Moffit lives in Rochester with his lovely and VERY tolerant wife, Sue. He works at some job that no one really cares to ask about. Mostly, we know that he’s down in Decorah most of the time (which is probably cool by Sue) and when he’s not, he’s jetting off to Single Speed Worlds, or Fruita, or some other mountain biking mecca. You’ve probably met him somewhere along the line and he remembers. He’s the kind of guy who makes friends as easily as most of us draw a breath. And he’s really furry.

I should note that both of these photos are circa 1987. Love the shorts.

So, these two have been responsible for a shit ton of mountain bike racing, trail building, and general tom-foolery for a long time, and I thought I’d turn the blog over to them - ask them a thing or two about the Decorah Time Trials and mountain bike racing in general. Below are their answers to my insightful and probing questions. They answered separately, but that was my plan. If I’d asked them together and in person, there’s no amount of time or beer that would have made their answers short enough for your collective attention spans. If you want more, please ask them.

The Deke and Chewey Interview:

1. You two are known in these parts as being two of the early instigators of the mountain bike scene. How did you get into riding dirt in the first place?

Deke:

Growing up between Duluth and the Twin Cities on a farm I mostly would take 3 speed English bikes and ride them on cowpaths. In college I had a 2 speed Schwinn Typhoon that I’d ride on dirt. Then, in 1981 I was in Yosemite at Camp 4 and some dude showed up on a Specialized Stumpjumper – one of the first. I almost wet my pants. From that point, I was hooked. My first real mountain bike was a Trek from 1983. I still have it too.

Chewey:

I started sometime in the mid 80’s (as Sue said, and I’ll use this for almost every answer that I’m off on the dates or places, “you can remember that far back?") Sue and Tanner bought me a Huffy mountain bike to commute to work on. I went to a race, LaCrosse, Winona, Volga, somewhere like that, with the Huffy. I met all these awesome people who eventually became great friends. Well at least I thought we were.

2. What were the early days of mountain bike racing in the Midwest like?

Deke:

It was a small community. Everyone had to take their turn being the idiot – basically, if you went to a race then the expectation was there that you’d put one on yourself. I put on my first race in 1984. Back then there were, like, 6 or 7 races and that’s just what everyone did. There was no standard format, no NORBA, no point series. It was just a bunch of schmucks having fun in the muck. It was cool because everyone knew everyone and that meant that people made sure others had a good time at races. People would help each other with repairs, there was always a keg of beer. At Bluebird Springs in LaCrosse there was a campground and a bar right there. Back then our energy food was hot dogs and burgers and our power drinks were beers.

Chewey:

It was as much a social event as a race. I started promoting races because it was “my turn."  The course was whatever/wherever you could a place that would let you use their property to hold an event. With most riders camping they became a cross country race one day, then an observed trials the next. There were a few races in MN, Lacrosse had two, and then Decorah had the Time Trials and Volga.

3. How do you feel about the evolution of mountain bike racing? Is it going in a positive direction?

Deke:

I think points series races are the death of mountain bike racing, and I say that even though I was one of the first people to help get them started around here. It’s just gone too far. People have their whole race schedule planned by February. I think it leads to people cheating and not be as helpful toward other racers since the stakes are higher for each race. It’s too much like a god damned road race. That’s not to say that there aren’t still great races – the Blockhouse Roll in Platteville has always been one of the best. There are families and kids and tacos and dogs and music. There are more people there for the fun than for the racing.

Chewey:

Overall I think it’s growing despite the National Organizations meddling. We tried to work with NORBA . Wait here’s the story: the NORBA Midwest rep (some Iowa roadie) wanted to meet with Deke and I as he passed through Minnesota. At the time (refer back to Sue’s statement) there were maybe nine races in the upper Midwest. And Deke and I, along with the other promoters had set ,up a series - mostly just a points system and an agreement on course markings. Anyway, Deke and I take the day off from our real jobs, drive to the Cities to meet this dick at the Minneapolis airport at 7or 8 am. We sit down, he introduces himself, some small talk, and then starts in telling us how NORBA is going to straighten out all that’s wrong with mountain bike racing. Deke looks at me, I go to the bar, get 2 pints (screw this guy) and Deke and I spent the next hour drinking and chewing this guy a new one for every "fix" NORBA had. And now they have Cat racers instead of the original beginner, sport, expert, categories because it’s easier for the roadies to cross over. Ok, maybe mountain bike racing on a national level IS shit. 

4. What’s the secret to building great trails?

Chewey:

I’m going to let Deke answer that. He’s going to give this really good explanation about erosion, proper tools, and working with other users. I say build them right so you don’t have to fix them. In other words I’m lazy.

Deke:

Land access, land access, land access. You can’t build trails without cooperative landowners – private or public. You also have got to have maintenance. You can build a great trail, but if you don’t take care of it, it will turn to shit. Also, you cannot do it alone. Nobody has a monopoly on good ideas, I’ve learned that. After all that, it’s just creativity. You don’t even have to have a particularly interesting chunk of ground – you just have to find the interesting trail on whatever ground you have.

5. When was the first Decorah Time Trial and who’s idea was it?

Chewey:

Deke’s up again I think I missed the first, and one other a couple of years back when someone (Editor's note: me) convinced me to go ride in Fruita instead. But aside from that I’ve counted down from 10 and held a lot of butts over the years. (Editor’s note: Chewey is generally the starter for the Time Trials, so by holding butts, he means… well, shit, let’s just leave it like he said it. It’s more fun that way.)

Deke:

The first Decorah Time Trial was in 1990 – and that was the return of racing in Decorah after some dark years. From 1987 to 1993 nobody was allowed to ride mountain bikes on ANY of the trails at all. We had a Parks and Rec director that put a stop to all of it. The lesson from that though, is that you’ve got to make yourself so obviously valuable to the community as a whole that one person’s opinion can’t derail you. Anyway, we started the Time Trials because our trails are too narrow for mass start evens. Also we did it because I was good at time trials – though I’ve never once ridden this particular race. I feel that if the promoter rides their own race that shit’s going to go wrong. It’s a superstition of mine.

6. How do you keep a mountain bike race relevant to racers who now have lots of options – specifically, state points series races, “epic” gravel races, etc?

Deke:

The Decorah Time Trials are fun because there’s time to hang out and actually talk to people. Also, I hate races where three people come away with everything and all of the other racers just subsidized their winnings. We have good giveaway drawings that everyone is involved in, we give trophies in lots of classes, and we have good food. We want people to show up early and hang out late. You still do have to have a great place to ride and give people timely and accurate results. But one of the big keys is that we don’t take it too seriously.

Chewey:

If mountain biking was your first love, it always will be. You may step away for whatever reason, but we seem to always go back. Gravel is just a road race, interesting but I don’t see mountain bikers leaving the sport to become world class gravel racers (that’s some funny shit right there). And isn’t this Epic racing really the same thing as we did in the 90’s.

7. What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen someone do at a mountain bike race?

Chewey:

I can think of a few, but the one that keeps coming up. Unicycle…

Deke:

I was a starting line judge for the NORBA Cactus Cup. One time in Galena this guy from Lincoln took off from the starting line and snapped his chain about 25 yards in. The dude starts going for his car and I told him that if he got any tools or assistance he’d forfeit. Well, the guy threw a total fit and went bananas. He said, “You mean I just drove seven hours to race 25 yards?” I told him, “No, you drove seven hours to race 25 yards without a chain tool in your jersey.” The funny part of that was that Mike Sinyard was racing there too and also had a technical. He went to go get something to fix his bike and I said, “Hey buddy, you can’t do that.” People said “Dude, that’s Mike Sinyard – of Specialized, they wrote the check for this whole race to happen.” But it was against the rules and he was very cool about it. He was the exact opposite of the angry dude from Lincoln.

8. Mr. Moffit, you’re famous for your ability to come in last in any race, ride, or drinking competition. What’s the key to this greatness?

Chewey:

Don’t kid yourself this shit ain’t easy. The competition is stiff. I had to hide in a forest in New Zealand [for single speed worlds] with all kinds of deadly creatures (they have deadly creatures there don’t they?) and drink waiting for this goof with a boom box strapped to his bike to get moving. If I remember right wasn’t it SURLY who started the DFL shit? Maybe Corson or Nick Fucking Sande? Wait until you meet one Kerry Montgomery from Austin TX who, after she blows by you on some really technical crap, will pull over and sob about the next climb, then drink you under the table. Being last has become an event unto itself. Your damn fault I think.

9. Mr. Gosen, the life of the bicycle retailer is not particularly easy. What advice do you have for the kids out there hoping to make millions opening a bike shop?

Deke:

Of course there’s the old joke that if you want to make a million dollars in the bike industry, you have to start with two. Honestly, most people who want to work in a bike shop really just want to hang out in a bike shop. They see how cool it is to kick back with a couple of beers, but it really is a lot of work. Retail is stressful and if you can’t handle that, then it ain’t gonna work out. Also, I would caution too, that bike shops kill relationships. I challenge you to find a bike shop owner who hasn’t had a break up or divorce or restraining order because of the shop. Let’s put it this way, if you run it well a bike shop has the potential to make you literally TENS of dollars.

10. Do you think bike racing is a gateway drug for some other life-ruining pursuit?

Chewey:

Dirt Burger is a result of MTB racing. ‘nough said? (Editor’s note: the Dirt Burger is another Decorah mountain bike even run by me with the express intent of NOT racing, but instead, sitting under a bridge, drinking, and periodically going for dirt rides. It’s June 21-22-and 23 this year, so get here.)

Deke:

Let me think about this one for a minute... For me, mountain bike racing can lead to really nasty things like vegetarian cooking, church, and white slavery. It could take you down a dark path – sex with animals for example.

There you have it. You’re smarter now, right? In all seriousness, you could do a lot worse than to ride, have a few beers, and bullshit with these two pillars of the Midwest mountain bike world. So, now’s your chance: find your way to Decorah for the Time Trials coming up at the end of this month. Bring back some of the good old days of dirt racing, meet some new people, and dig our bluffs. If you don’t, you’re kind of being a jerk after all this typing I’ve done.

-Skip

A few days ago, I sat down to write a blog post like I do from time to time.  I had a great idea for the content and pictures and it was gonna rule- but after an hour or so of roughing it out I was looking at a mountain of meandering chicken scratch.  It seemed that the promise of my idea might have been better than its reality, or my execution, or both.  So now what?

In every book I’ve read or movie I’ve seen, when the protagonist is in limbo something external – a sign, a storm, a bulldozer steps in and keeps the story moving.  This has rarely happened to me during my life or I have a hard time recognizing when it does.  So then I started thinking about that whole deal which quickly transformed my mind into a fondue pot of fate, mindfulness, faith, and world outlook.  An hour of this went by and I was completely confused.

So I decided to go riding. 

Some things are just easy to understand.

Sorry, teach- I’ll turn it in next week and hope for half credit!

At my old job I used to spend a lot of time on the road.  I look back on those days of constant travel and homelessness with a deep fondness; a fondness so deep it sort of creeps me out a bit.  I love to go places and see things, and I used to get paid to do just that.  So when our fearless yet wacky leader, Greg said "You're going to Milwaukee for five days to do this thing."  I said "uh...sure."  My reserved response belied the excitement I felt because, bitch, I ain't never even been to Milwaukee!  Now, work travel can go one of two ways.  It can be the best time you've ever had because you're traveling on the company dime, or it can be just like working, and they don't call it work for nothing.  The good part is that you get to decide.  This is America, damnit!  If you've ever had to work a trade show, you know how that goes.  If you've never had to work a tradeshow for your job, first let me congratulate you on your life choices and second, they don't call it work for nothing, but there are far worse things one can be forced to do than sitting around inside talking to good people about bikes that you think kick ass.  We aren't exactly building the Kolyma Highway here....

Seeing as that I'm a big fan of doing things I've never done before, and having never been to Milwuakee I was pretty excited for this trip.  It's a place I've always heard a lot about, but never really understood why there was this mystique surrounding it.  Everyone always gets this weird look in their eyes when they talk about Milwaukee.  There's some sort of embarassed exhilartion that comes across people's faces when they talk about it.  It's as though when they were there they did something they feel like they should regret, but don't and all they can do is warn you that the same thing will happen to you once you're there.  I've never seen people have that reaction to a place, so I was pretty excited to go. 

Turns out, the most disappointing thing about Milwaukee is that they put ice in their mimosas, which I just find very odd....  T$ and I hit the ground running, hooking up with Zito and from there the raging only subsided for short stints of work whereupon we talked to people about the finer details of what makes Surly Bikes so bitchin' and watching people come back smiling from the Fatbike demos.  The people sure do love their Fatbikes....  Normally I'd have much much higher standards when it comes to the photos I post on the blog but I think the blurriness of this photo accurately represents what my vision was like for most of the trip and what we did while we weren't working/sleeping.  I swear, when I took the photo it looked like it was in perfect focus.  Go to Milwaukee.  I command thee.

The Arrowhead 135 is a 135-mile human-power race (run, ski, or bike) that follows the Arrowhead State Snowmobile Trail from International Falls, MN (“the icebox of the nation”) to Tower, MN…usually during the last week of January or the first week of February.  Temperatures and trail conditions vary on the trail from year to year, day to day, and, sometimes, hour to hour. Every year, a percentage of the racers succumb to mental and physical fatigue, physical injury, hypothermia, and equipment failures. It is a challenging event – a true test of mind, body, and spirit. 

I’ve raced the AH135 for the last 8 years, because it scratches a few itches for me.  It’s an opportunity for me to push myself physically, trying to go a little faster than years previous.  It allows me to test some of the gear-choice and food-choice theories that popped into my trail-weary melon during the previous year’s race.  It gives me a chance to try out new Surly products in changing, real-world conditions.  It’s an opportunity to catch up with some old friends.  And it’s a time for me to think about everything, without much distraction, while I’m out on the trail. 

The Bike

Like most years, I chose my race rig long before registration opened.  I’ve been riding a Bud (4.8”) on the front and a Lou (4.8”) on the rear, so I figured I’d stick with the big, aggressive rubber for this year’s  race.  I swapped out a prototype crankset for a more current proto of our new O.D. (offset double) crankset.  And I exchanged my Titec J-bar for a widened Jones Loop bar.  It’s, more or less, the same bike I’ve been riding for the last year…a known quantity. 

Here’s a basic run-down of the build…  Wheels:  Rear…Lou, Clown Shoe, DT 350 hub, DT 1.8/2.0 spokes, DT brass nipples, Surly rimstrip, Surly tube; Front…Bud, Clown Shoe, Surly Ultra New 135mm single-speed disc hub,  DT 1.8/2.0 spokes, DT brass nipples, Surly rimstrip, Surly tube.  Drivetrain:  O.D. crankset (20t/34t chainrings) with Surly bottom bracket, SRAM 971 chain, SRAM 15-34 7-speed cassette (2 cogs removed from a 9-speed cassette).  Brakes: Avid mechanical disc brakes, Dirty Dog rotors (dragons!), and Shimano Deore levers. Shifters/Derailleurs:  Microshift thumbies, Microshift mid-cage rear derailleur, Shimano STX direct-mount front derailleur. Misc: Ritchey seatpost, WTB Pure V saddle, Jones Loop Bar, Salsa stem, Cane Creek 40 headset, Odyssey Triple Trap Pedals. 

I used Revelate Designs bags to carry the majority of my gear...Moonlander/Pug framebag, Viscacha seatbag with Spocket, Gas Tank, Jerrycan, handlebar harness and harness bag.  I chose 5-liter POE drybags, cinched into Salsa Anything Cages mounted to the fork blades, to carry lightweight/bulky clothing items.

Mandatory Gear

We are required to carry items from a mandatory gear list.  If chosen wisely and used properly, this stuff should keep me alive and well if things get ugly on the trail.  I bring items that I know and trust.  I've used all of it, in the field, at some point.  It's not always the lightest stuff, but I'm confident that it will serve me well if needed.  There won't be any unpleasant surprises, if I'm forced to rely on it.  Here's what I carried this year:  Sierra Designs minus-20F down bag, Thermarest Ridgerest sleeping pad, Equinox bivy, cheap adjustable lighter, titanium Esbit stove, 12-pack of Esbit fuel tabs, 500ml titanium pot w/lid, Isotherm insulated 1-liter bottles (2), Princeton Tec Epic Pro headlamp, Cateye 3-LED flashers (2), a whistle on a string around my neck, reflective triangles and reflective strips (attached to my boots), and a small jar of peanut butter (3200 calories).

I hope I never have to use my emergency food rations (jar of peanut butter) or my reserve of stove fuel (Esbit tabs) because 1) it will mean I'm probably in tough shape and 2) It will disqualify me.  But it's nice to know it's there if needed.  I've never used my shelter, my stove, or my bag during the race, but I know many who have...even though they didn't plan on doing so.  Those items are truly lifesavers.  And I'm glad that Don, the Gear Nazi, is there to make sure everybody has what they need to keep themselves out of harm's way...as much as can be expected, given the circumstances.  Of course, a person has to know how and when to use those lifesaving tools.  Otherwise, they simply have no value. 

Clothing

Clothing worn (layering inside to outside)…  Head: Pearl Izumi headband, WSI Flippy Cap.  Torso: Ibex short-sleeve base layer, Ibex long-sleeve zip-neck base layer, Empire Wool and Canvas Co. (EWCC) Grey Fox coat (customized), Montane Pertex shell.  Legs: Ibex windfront boxer/briefs, Craft tights, Race Face knickers. Hands: WSI liner gloves, EWCC Icebike Mitts. Feet: WSI liner socks, plastic bags (vapor barriers), Fox River ragg wool socks, EWCC True North Boots.

I’ve been riding in wool, leather, and canvas clothing, from Empire Wool and Canvas, since last year.  I love this stuff.  My winter-riding mindset has been changing.  I like knowing that I’ll be comfortable while I’m pedaling, when I break for tea mid-ride, and when I have to stop to deal with mechanical issues.  I find that natural materials tend to breathe better than most of the plastic garments I've used over the years.  I stay warmer, drier, less stinky, and, ultimately, more comfortable when I’m wearing clothing made from natural fibers. Obviously, I've listed some synthetic clothing items above. I like plastic clothes for their durability and/or water resistance.  They often work well in conjunction with the natural-fiber items.  I think I've found a good synthetic/natural balance. 

I wore an Empire Grey Fox wool coat during every cold-temperature work commute this winter.  I have two of them…a proto half-zip and a custom full-zip.  I’ve used them in temps from minus-10 to 50 degrees F. There was no need to second-guess my choice for the race. If the temperature had been much colder, I would have supplemented the Fox with a new lightweight cotton parka (prototype) from Empire.  I used an ultralight Pertex shell, toward the end of my ride, to keep the snow from accumulating and melting on the wool coat. 

I was able to get by with only WSI liner gloves for the first half of the race.  When the snow began to fall, I added the wool liners from my Empire IceBike Mitts. Eventually, I donned the IceBike shells.  I love having a system that can be adjusted for the conditions.  If the need had arisen, I could have added another wool liner mitten layer and/or vapor barrier gloves.  I’d feel comfortable with this system down to minus-40 F.  I rode in the IceBike Mitts all winter.  They are bulky (I wear XL), but they are warm and comfortable.  I use thumbies on most of my bikes, so the bulk isn't a problem. 

Like my handwear, my footwear is scalable to deal with a wide range of winter temperatures.  The True North Boots are like mukluks on steroids. The flex of the sole promotes circulation and, unlike a traditional mukluk, the TN Boots lace from the toes to the upper calves. So one can adjust the fit to accommodate a wide array of insole and sock choices. 

The mild conditions allowed me to ride without a headband or cap most of the time.  But, eventually, the wet snow made it necessary for me to add the PI headband and, finally, the WSI Flippy cap to stave off a permanent chill.  The Flippy cap is named for one of its features: the earflaps flip up when not needed.  I usually carry this cap in my spare clothing kit.  It's light, it doesn't take up much space, it easily fits under a helmet, and it works very well to completely cover my ears.  That's where many caps fall short. 

Food

I carried a lot of the food I’ve used in years past:  bacon, Slim Jims (mild), crushed cheddar-flavored potato chips, crushed Chili Cheese Fritos, peanut butter cups, smoked almonds, salted cashews, dried cherries, chocolate-covered raisins, Ginsting Honey Stinger gel, Honey Stinger waffles (lemon), Honey Stinger chews (lime), Gummi Bears, 5-Hour Energy, and super-special homemade dessert bars.

I had a tough time eating on the trail.  It could have been the warm temps.  The furnace simply didn’t require as much stoking to generate heat.  I made the mistake of using 5-hour Energy supplements, again, this year.  Last year, they didn’t sit well with me; I experienced some stomach discomfort.  I got the same results during this year’s ride.  Lesson learned.  Scratch those off the list. 

I craved cola throughout the race.  I had some Coke at the midway and final checkpoints, but I wanted more as soon as I hit the trail.  Maybe, I’ll incorporate a can or two into next year’s food bags.

Race Prep

I was relatively well-prepared for this year’s race. I started my shopping, sewing, wrenching, packing, and gear mods a week before the race.  Usually, I wait until the last minute to get my equipment sorted out. 

My dad (Jerry) picked my son, Noah, and me up at 6AM Sunday morning.  We loaded up our bikes...my Moonlander and Noah’s new 14” Pug, and secured them next to Dad's purple Pug in the box of the truck. We piled the rest of our gear around the bikes and in the cab and had just enough room for Noah to ride comfortably in the back seat.  It didn't take long to get things situated and strapped down for the 5-hour drive north to International Falls.  We were on the road by 6:30. 

We arrived in International Falls before noon…in plenty of time to complete the mandatory gear check and settle into our hotel room. 

After attending the pre-race meeting, we returned to our hotel so Noah could swim and I could pack.  Then we went out for an early dinner…not unlike the routine of prior years.  When we got back to the hotel, Noah went swimming again, Dad socialized a bit, and I messed around with my bike and clothing a little more.  I like to have everything ready to go...bike packed, clothing set out, non-race stuff packed to go back in the truck…before I retire for the evening.

I showered and turned off the lights around 10:30.  I slept well. 

We were up by 5:30AM Monday morning. This year, we prepared breakfast in the hotel room instead of having Dad run to McDonalds.  Mom had prepared and packed bacon, pancakes, hashbrowns, and orange juice for us.  She hates the race, because she can't stop worrying about me until she knows I'm safe and sound and done riding.  I appreciate that she is still willing to support me, despite the extra stress it causes.  We nuked our food in the microwave provided in the room.  Dad grabbed us coffee at the hotel continental breakfast buffet.  That worked great.  I’m not picky about breakfast.  It doesn’t have to be gourmet.  I just need to get calories in my system before I ride.   

I was dressed, out the door, and pedaling toward the Kerry Arena, the race starting point, at 6:40.  It’s an easy 10-minute ride to the arena.  I like riding vs. driving to the start, so I can make adjustments to the bike and clothing before the gun goes off. 

The Ride

Bikers go off at 7AM, followed by the skiers, and then the runners.  By 7:04, 135 racers were headed down the trail toward Tower, MN…135 miles away. 

It was 25 degrees (F) when we started.  It didn’t take long before I was adjusting clothing.  My coat and long-sleeve Ibex base layer were unzipped, and my head was bare after 15 minutes of riding.  The lightweight WSI liner gloves were sufficient for the mild morning temps. 

I started with 12 PSI in Bud and Lou, but soon dropped the pressure to better deal with the soft trail conditions.  I made minor adjustments throughout the race…finishing with 7 PSI front and rear. 

Like the other riders, I searched for a comfortable cadence and a place in the pack.  It didn't take long to settle into a sustainable rhythm. 

My dad volunteered at one of the first major road crossings…flagging racers across when the road is clear, so I stopped for a minute to talk with him and Noah – and take a drink of water – when I got to them.  Even though it was early in the race, it’s always nice see them on the trail.  One advantage of not being worried about (qualified for) a “podium” finish:  the opportunities to stop and chat, along the way, without getting stressed about losing a place in the race. 

At the first shelter…where we take a left and start riding east, I stopped to hydrate and take in some calories.  Pat White and Chuck Lindner stopped, too.  Most years, I have the opportunity to ride with Pat and Chuck, at some point, during the race.  Even if it’s only for a few minutes at a pop…it’s fun to interact with some of the regulars who come back, year after year, to accept what the Arrowhead Trail has to offer.  Technically, we are competitors, but nobody really pays much attention to placement behind the first 2 or 3 finishers in each class.  This event is a lot of things to a lot of folks…a middle finger raised to the elements; a race against the clock; a mental challenge against long hours slogging forward in the dark; a time to ponder; a time to hallucinate; a chance to take in the quiet, often sparse beauty of the Arrowhead Trail; a chance to test (and justify) those new shiny toys; an opportunity to push oneself beyond normal pain and endurance thresholds…  The list goes on and on. 

My dad and Noah were waiting at the Hwy 53 crossing.  I stopped for some pics, to give Noah a hug, and to suck down some water and a Honey Stinger packet.  Noah was proud of the 16 steel spikes he’d already collected from the railroad track running parallel to the highway.  He’s 9. That’s what 9-year-old boys do…they collect treasures.  Hell…I’m 43, and I do the same. 

The AH is a really good opportunity for Noah to spend time with his grandpa…and vice versa.  I pulled Noah from school Monday and Tuesday to come to the race again (he came last year, too).  He learns a lot more at the race than he would in an underfunded Minneapolis public school.  And I'm sure he will attest to the improved quality of the lunches. 

6-8 riders passed as we chatted.  No worries.  I knew I had 15 – 20 hours left to catch them, if I could.  1 or 2 minutes means nothing, unless you’re one of the big dogs up front.  I wasn’t chasing anyone.  I wasn’t being chased. 

Off again. I passed riders and got passed.  I caught up to Lindsay Gauld. I always enjoy riding with – and talking with – Lindsay.  Most years, we move down the trail at the same average speed…trading positions in the rider field over the course  of 20 – 25 hours.  It was announced, at the pre-race meeting, that Lyndsay could hit his millionth-kilometer-pedaled mark on his Arrowhead 135 ride.  Knowing Lyndsay, I was pretty confident that he'd hit that mark and finish the race in a respectable time.   

When I got to the first checkpoint,  the Gateway Store, Noah and Dad were waiting for me.  I had already formulated my game plan for the stop.  Since I had lots of calories remaining in my bags, I didn't need to buy any food from the store. And I wasn't going to stay very long.  But I was thirsty and cramping up a bit.  So I filled my water bottles, chugged a Gatorade, and wolfed down some cold bacon. 

Noah was riding his Pug around in the parking lot.  I could tell he was having fun.  Normally I’d tell him to put his helmet on, but I wasn’t wearing one either. I wasn’t going to be a hypocrite. And I figured that his thick, insulated hat would likely provide a bit of protection in the unlikely event of a crash.  That child is hard-headed, anyway.  He must get that from his mother. 

After we took some quick photos, I was back on the trail.  It seemed pretty slow. Snowmobiles had passed coming the opposite way, so the tracks of the riders in front of me had been erased in many spots.  I was busting new trail for a while. 

I passed riders and got passed by riders.  At times, I was very pleased with my decision to run the wide rim/big tire format.  Other times...when the trail was firm, the large-format wheels slowed me down, and I had to second-guess my equipment choice. 

During the daylight hours, I make a point of observing and appreciating the beauty of the northern woods and enjoying the company of my riding companions.  We are still grouped relatively close together.  That tends to change after we reach the mid-way checkpoint. 

Mike Riemer…Salsa marketing guy, pro photographer, old friend, and co-worker…was out on the trail taking photos.  I stopped to talk with Mike for a bit.  I was in no rush, and I welcomed the chance to stop pedaling for a spell.  As I mentioned previously...it’s nice to have the time to chat.  I took off, again, when the next rider came into view.

Dad’s truck was parked at the Sheep Ranch Road crossing.  I stopped to say “hi”.  Noah was asleep in the truck.  Pugsley had kicked his ass. I could relate. 

After getting a brief update on where people were on the trail, I continued on. I wanted to get to Melgeorge’s Resort, the midway checkpoint…69 miles from the start, before sundown.  I knew it was possible and likely, if I just kept churning forward at my pace. 

At that point in the race, I was getting low on energy.  I couldn’t eat much. I felt slow and sluggish.  I blamed the equipment at times.  But, deep down, I knew it had more to do with my lack of usable calories. No fuel intake – no energy.  I was re-tasting the 5-hour energy drink I’d consumed.  That taste stuck with me for the rest of the ride.  I tried forcing down bits of food, here and there.  I sampled the contents of every Zip-lock in my harness bag, hoping to find a catalyst for an appetite. Nothing tasted good. The thought of consuming another packet of Honey Stinger gel made me wretch.  

A downside of riding the Arrowhead multiple times: knowing how far it is to the next checkpoint and dreading the push up some of the big, unrideable hills. Some of the hills, before Elephant Lake,  just suck…especially when you don’t have any fuel in the tank.  It doesn’t help that I pack with a survivalist mentality.  I don’t pack like a racer. I tote a fixed-blade bushcraft knife AND a Leatherman.  I carry several tools to make fire. I’m equipped with a first aid kit, cordage, tape, a proven tool kit, a sewing kit, and clothing to keep me comfortable well below zero.  I’m prepared to live outside, to melt snow to make water, to repair most of my gear, and to find or build a shelter and/or build a fire to stay warm if the need should arise. I don’t want to blame my equipment, or a lack thereof, for a race that I can’t finish.  

My spirits always lift when I hit the edge of Elephant Lake.  The midway checkpoint cabin is only about a kilometer away.  But the tracks ahead of me weren’t very packed, and it was a slow roll across the lake.  At least, the hills were behind me for a little while.  And the promise of a warm, dry shelter ahead gave me a little boost. 

My dad met me at the edge of the lake when I arrived at the resort.  Noah was still sleeping.  I was a little jealous. I could have used a nap. 

The Arrowhead race volunteers are always top-notch.  After I entered the checkpoint cabin, I had a grilled cheese sandwich, a bowl of soup, and a cup of Coke in front of me within a couple minutes.  Real, warm food stimulated my appetite, and I took advantage of the opportunity to pack in some calories for the next leg of the annual journey. 

The checkpoint cabin can suck you in using the temptations of warmth, rest, and generous hospitality. One of my goals for the year was to minimize the time spent at each checkpoint.  I’ve spent hours at Melgeorge’s in years past.  I know it’s highly unlikely that I’m going to be sprinting for a photo finish, but I always want to push myself…to do better than the year before…to finish with a time that just happens to be a personal best.  Minimizing my checkpoint times, within reason, could effectively shorten my overall race time…or I could screw myself by not taking enough time to rest, recover, and resupply.  I figured I’d eat, I’d refill my foodbag with some of the items from my drop bag, and I’d refill my water bottles…all at a relaxed pace. Then I’d go. 

I got to spend a little time with my dad and Noah. There wasn’t much conversation, because I was feeling a little worked and there was a lot going on in the cabin.  But I really appreciated having them there…especially for the sendoff into the dark night. 

I packed up the Moonlander, gave Noah a hug, turned on my headlight, and rolled off toward the familiar trail entrance.  Dad and Noah were headed to their hotel room at the casino in Tower, so I wouldn’t see them again until my race was finished. 

I rode alone.  Thick clouds blocked out the light of an almost-full moon.  A headlight was necessary most of the time.  I kept my handlebar-mounted Princeton Tec Push on “low” for the remainder of my ride.  I used my Princeton Tec Apex Pro headlamp, in addition to the Push, on the fast descents.  One of my gear improvements, prompted by a need to use the Apex switches while wearing heavy mittens, is a modification of the switches…reshaped (ground) ball bearings glued to the switch membranes using Aquaseal. The mod worked great. 

I was on the trail for an hour - maybe, an hour and a half - when heavy, wet flakes began to fall and fill in the tracks I’d been following.  It was expected, but not welcomed.  I knew that no good would come from a sizeable accumulation of snow.  Even with my aggressive tire choices, my average speed was guaranteed to decline. 

Due to the light reflecting off the big flakes, my headlamp became more of a hindrance than a help on the fast downhill sections of the course.  I refrained from using it when the snow fell fastest/heaviest, relying solely on the handlebar light much of the time. 

A couple hours after leaving Melgeorges, I finally saw the telltale strobe of another rider.  The “cat and mouse” game was on. Having a goal - catching someone ahead of me – gives me something to focus on.  So my speed increased a bit, I passed that rider (I can’t remember who) and I made up a place.  That scenario would play out again and again as I moved toward the finish line.  As the snow continued to pile up, Bud and Lou were proving themselves against the comparatively smaller and less aggressive tires on other bikes.

Most of the steep uphill sections were unrideable after 80-100mm of snow had piled up. I got a lot of mounting/dismounting practice during the race.  After a while, one gets a pretty good idea of what can be ridden and what can not be ridden…usually by studying the tracks of the riders ahead.  I proceeded accordingly.  There’s no sense wasting valuable energy trying to ride a hill when walking is ultimately faster and less taxing. 

The increased amount of energy expenditure, caused by the snow, made me sweat more than I usually do…which forced me to rehydrate more than usual.  Eventually, my water supply dwindled to nothing, and I resorted to eating snow.  Normally, I wouldn’t eat snow to rehydrate, but the warm air temperature and new, clean snow made it feasible, safe, and desirable. Each time I dismounted to walk a hill, I grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it in my mouth.  Slowly, my nagging thirst subsided. 

The hills seem endless, sometimes.  Maybe, that’s what makes the last checkpoint even better; it signifies that the end of the hilly section is very close.  When I rolled in to the 3rd and final checkpoint…pushing my bike up the small hill toward the warm glow of the fire, Lance and Terry were there weighing their race strategy options. Lance was strongly considering a bivy down the trail.  Terry was experiencing some hand numbness and was unsure of his next move.  It was still snowing heavily, and the trail conditions were getting notably worse as the clock ticked. I decided to fill up with water, drink my fill of Coke, and get moving again before the fire had any chance of lulling me into an extended stay. 

I plowed on, trying to stay in the faintly recognizable tracks of the riders who had gone before me. Sometimes, that worked.  Sometimes, it didn’t.  Regardless, I was able to keep pedaling as Bud and Lou found traction at the bottom of the deepening layer of frozen precip.  I spent a lot of time in my granny gear.  Progress was slow, but pedaling was faster and more efficient than walking. 

After tackling the last major hill on the course, I found myself on the familiar, relatively-flat part of trail that continues on to the finish line.  Riding this 40km section is always an exercise in tedium.  It’s as much of a mental challenge as it is a physical challenge…especially when the pace is slow.   

I caught up to Lyndsay and Tim Ek.  We talked a bit as we progressed toward Tower.  Lyndsay had passed his 1-million-kilometer mark by this point.  Very impressive…but not surprising. 

I got a little mental energy boost from moving up a couple more places, so I increased my cadence a bit to see if I could reel in one more rider before the end of the race.  My finish time and placement isn’t really that important, but chasing another rider, real or imaginary, is something to focus on…other than simply trying to stay upright and pointed straight down the trail. 

Minutes and hours passed without any sign of a red blinky light ahead of me on the trail.  Eventually, I made it to the recently-groomed section of trail that led to the finish line at the casino.  The fresh surface looked deceptively fast.  But the serpentine bike tracks, punctuated by foot tracks, told the true tale. The groomer had churned up the snow, and it hadn’t set up firmly.  That push to the finish turned out to be one of the slowest, most frustrating parts of the ride.

I constantly hunted for the fastest line and struggled to maintain momentum.  At times, I was forced to dismount and walk. When the finish line, at last, appeared, I was elated at the thought of being done.  I tried to finish strong, but the conditions wouldn’t allow it.  I pushed my bike up the last small hill and barely managed to ride the last few meters of the course before rolling through the finishing gate 23 hours and 54 minutes after starting my ride.  Good enough for 16^th place.  I’m happy with that…especially knowing that only 35%, of the 135 starting racers, finished the race, this year.  It was a tough one for those of us who didn't beat the snow.  Ironically, it was also a record-breaking year for the fast guys. They stayed ahead of the heavy clouds and put all their energy into going fast instead of fighting the trail.  Nice work, fellas.   

Over the last 8 years of my participation in the AH 135, I’ve pushed and ridden my bike approximately 1015 miles on the Arrowhead Trail…not counting all the extra miles added while taking wrong turns and backtracking during the early years of the race.  Despite my experience, it doesn’t seem to get much easier…even when it’s not snowing.  This year, I suffered the usual aches and pains associated with riding and pushing a loaded fatbike for the better part of a day.  My shoulders, hands, neck, legs, and ass were sore.  I was a little more chafed than usual...maybe, from riding in wet tights.  I'll spare you the details.  And, after riding in wet gloves for a good portion of the race, my hands looked like bleached prunes. 

Fortunately, it doesn't take long for the soreness to subside.  And the mind has an amazing way of hampering a good portion of the not-so-pleasant memories - the unavoidable periods of suffering - during the race.  So when I got home, I did what I usually do:  I made a list of all the things that worked well and all the things that didn't work well.  I think there's a good chance that I'll be looking over that list, next year, as I plan for another snowy dash across the northern Minnesota wilderness.  Sorry, Mom.